Mark of a killer
by AlexaC
Summary: Jasper contemplates life, death, love and scars.


_Man she saves me  
To this day I don't know why  
She picked me up  
When I was down on the road  
With the wind when it blowed_

_Son's Gonna Rise- Citizen Cope_

*~*~*

People look at me, some even stare. The perfect features of my face draw their gazes, but they don't see me. No matter how long they look for, no matter how much they stare, they never truly see, with their weak eyes and closed minds they can't see what I am.

Even my family, with their heightened senses and extra powers, don't see. They think that our eye colour separates us from the others, the vegetarians and the killers. But they don't realise that red eyes are not the mark of a killer. Not really.

My family can see the scars in the way the humans can't, though I frequently wear long sleeves and trousers, regardless of the prevailing weather conditions and what the humans are wearing. Even if it was 100 degrees in the shade and all the humans are in shorts and t-shirts, I'd still be in long sleeves, regardless of the looks I may draw because of it. I can't hide them, however hard I may try, too many young vampires tried and failed to rip my throat out to let me completely cover them all with clothing. But no one, not even Alice, the other half that makes me whole, sees them for what they mark me to be.

A killer.

My family do not know killing, even Edward, the former vigilante hunter who took human lives and lived with red eyes as he survived on their blood. But I know death, I understand killing. When you have taken the lives of immortals, then you can truly understand death. I killed friends, comrades and enemies for more than twenty years, I can't help but understand death. And I have the scars to prove it.

With my perfect recall, I can remember receiving every bite, how I got every one of the hundreds of scars across my body. I can also remember killing almost all of those who managed to get close enough to sink their teeth into my marble skin. I clearly recall calmly dismembering them and throwing their limbs into roaring flames. I killed immortals, helping ensure their life span could be measured in weeks or months rather than centuries or millennia.

I still carry guilt for what I did, for all the lives that I took. I may not have known any different but that doesn't justify what I did, ignorance is no excuse. I could have left Maria long before I did, I didn't have to fight for so long. I'm still trying to seek some kind of absolution for what I did, I think that having to wear these scars for eternity are part of my penance.

It's only our rare encounters with nomads that I'm seen for what I am. They see the scars and they know I am dangerous, they can count the fights I've had with our own kind and, by the fact I'm still standing, the number of fights I've won. Regardless of Carlisle's peaceful words and calm explanations, I can feel a spike of fear when they take in my appearance. And I don't blame them, I am dangerous but it's the humans, who don't see me for what I am, who have much more to fear.

I have spent more of life drinking from humans than not, my eyes may be gold now but it doesn't mean my thirst is completely tamed. I could still snap, start a massacre in the cafeteria. And I know, that as little as I'd deserve it, Alice would stand by me, as would the rest of my family. We'd move on and start again somewhere new, just as we've done before. But it would be more evidence of what I am, if I did slip, if I did kill again. It would be proof that I'm not good enough. Not for Alice or Carlisle and Esme or any of the others. Alice is the only reason that I have kept my record for so long, there's no way I could have held out for this long without her.

Alice sees my scars, all of them, she knows my past and she loves me. And that I don't understand. From the moment she had hopped off the stool in that diner in Philadelphia and admonished me for keeping her waiting, I was hooked.

Never had any other vampire approached me so readily and without a hint of fear, the emotions radiating off her were something I had never experienced before, excitement, pleasure, anticipation. Despite her relaxed approach, I had already prepared myself for a fight, that was all I knew and understood. But then when she held out her hand, I took it without a second thought, though I didn't and still can't understand why she offered it.

When she found me, it had been two weeks since my last kill, the depression had been setting in, the knowledge that I would soon have to take another life. But Alice showed me another way, another life. She saved me, from the depression, from myself. She brought me to Carlisle and the others, a family and she brought me peace. I will happily spend the rest of my existence thanking her for that, trying to be the man she deserves to have.

I stand shirtless in our bedroom and stare into the mirror. The whole room screams of Alice's, rather than my, taste. Ever room we have ever shared has been more hers than mine and that's fine with me, it makes her happy, which makes me happy. I have a study of my own to give me a space of my own, a small room with shelves of books, somewhere I can be alone, I can be myself.

The large gilt framed mirror is evidence of Alice's control of the bedroom decor, given the choice, it isn't something I would have, though Alice makes considerable use of it to appraise the latest fashions.

This morning though, it's my turn to stare, not at clothes but myself, my scars. I stare until I don't really notice myself and more, until the scars are all I see. I hate them, for what they represent, that they mark me for what I am.

I feel Alice's approach before I see or hear her, her particular emotions are as unique as a fingerprint in someone I know so well. I can feel her frustration and I know she's already seen my standing here and the conversation we're about to have, that we've had before and will likely have again.

As she enters the room and stands next to me, our eyes meet in the mirror, both looking forward but still at each other. She reaches up, stretching a hand up to gently stroke the left side of my neck, the spot with the greatest concentration of scars. I don't flinch as I once would have but it takes effort, even now.

"I see you, Jasper," she says, planting a gentle kiss on my shoulder, the highest place she can reach if she stands on tip-toes. She's anticipated my question, already having seen me ask. "I see my beautiful, strong, overprotective husband," she expands, still gently stroking my skin, sending waves of electricity through me.

I feel her love for me, pure and unsullied and as she pulls me down for a kiss, I am hit with a jolt of lust.

"I love every part of you, Jazz. Not just the outside, though that is pretty good," she continues, still planting gently kisses on my face and neck between her words. "Your past is who you are and it brought you to me."

Not knowing how to express my feelings for her, I send her a wave of them instead, love and lust, admiration and adoration.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," I say, starting to return her kisses.

"You were first thing I ever saw and the only person I will ever need. That's all there is to it."

"You found me and gave me a reason to live. As long as I've got you, I've got that."

As she dragged me towards our bed, all thoughts of my scars went and I knew we would be very late for school.

*~*~*

_A short little one shot but I'd love to know what you think. Please review! Reviews encourage me to write more. _

_Thanks for reading._


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